No.  461. 


THE 


MISSIONARY’S  FATHER. 

A  LETTER  FROM  REV.  WILLIAM  GOODELL. 


Constantinople,  August  18,  1843. 

My  dear  Brother — The  intelligence  contained  in  your 
letter  was  not  unexpected.  Our  father  had  attained  to  a 
great  age,  lacking  only  five  days  of  being  eighty-six  years 
old.  He  was  full  of  days,  hut  more  full  of  faith  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  How  long  he  had  “  borne  the  image  of  the 
earthly”  before  he  was  renewed  in  the  spirit  of  his  mind,  I 
know  not ;  but  I  know  he  had  long  borne  “the  image  of 
the  heavenly.” 

Though  I  can  look  back  some  forty-five  years  or  more,  I 
cannot  look  hack  to  the  year  when  he  was  not  living  a  life  of 
faith,  and  prayer,  and  self-denial — of  deadness  to  the  world, 
and  of  close  walk  with  God.  This  was  the  more  remarkable, 
as  in  the  church,  of  which  in  those  days  he  was  a  mem¬ 
ber,  there  was  scarcely  one  individual  who  could  fully  sym¬ 
pathize  with  him  in  his  religious  views.  Those  great  evan¬ 
gelical  doctrines  of  the  Gospel,  which  his  own  minister  never 
preached,  and  his  own  church  never  adopted  into  her  creed, 
were  his  meat  and  drink.  “  The  raven ,  though  an  unclean 
bird ,  brought  food  to  Elijah ,”  was  a  common  expression  of 
his  on  returning  from  church,  where  he  had  been  able  to 
pick  out  of  much  chaff  a  few  crumbs  of  the  bread  of  life. 
His  privileges  were  few  ;  prayer-meetings  were  unknown  ; 
the  sum  total,  or  about  the  sum  total  of  his  library,  was  the 
family  Bible,  one  copy  of  Watts’  Psalms  and  Hymns,  Dod¬ 
dridge’s  Rise  and  Progress,  Pike’s  Cases  of  Conscience,  the 
second  volume  of  Fox’s  Book  of  Martyrs,  and  the  Assem¬ 
bly’s  Catechism. 

But  though  his  means  of  grace  were  thus  limited,  yet, 
meditating  day  and  night  on  God’s  law,  his  roots  struck 
deep  ;  and  he  was  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  rivers  of  water, 
whose  leaf  is  always  green,  and  whose  fruit  is  always  abun¬ 
dant.  Whoever  saw  him  riding  on  horseback  would,  if  he 
kept  himself  concealed,  be  almost  sure  to  see  him  engaged 


9 


THE  MISSIONARY’S  FATHER. 


in  prayer.  Whoever  should  work  with  him  in  seed-time  or 
harvest,  would  find  his  thoughts  as  actively  employed  above, 
as  his  hands  were  below.  Whoever  of  the  Lord’s  people 
met  him,  by  day  or  by  night,  at  home  or  abroad,  alone  or  in 
company,  would  find  him  ready  to  sit  down  with  them  in 
heavenly  places,  in  order  to  comprehend  “what  is  the  length, 
and  breadth,  and  depth,  and  height”  of  the  love  of  Christ. 

Being  the  youngest  of  the  family,  you  can  have  but  an 
indistinct  recollection  of  the  small  house  on  the  side  of  the 
hill,  containing  two  small  rooms  and  a  garret,  floored  with 
loose  and  rough  boards,  where  twelve  of  us  were  born  ;  and 
of  the  small  clump  of  apple-trees  before  the  door,  where 
your  elder  brothers  and  sisters  played  in  the  days  of  their 
thoughtless  childhood.  There,  with  no  lock  to  any  door, 
and  no  key  to  any  trunk,  or  drawer,  or  cupboard  ;  there, 
where,  as  I  am  told,  nothing  now  remains  but  an  old  cellar, 
which  may  even  itself,  long  before  this,  have  been  filled  up  ; 
there  our  godly  father  prayed  for  us  with  all  prayer  and 
supplication  in  the  Spirit ;  there,  on  every  Sabbath-eve,  he 
asked  us  those  solemn,  important,  and  all-comprehensive 
questions  from  the  Catechism ;  and  there,  with  eyes  and 
heart  raised  to  heaven,  we  used  to  sing  to  the  tune  of  old 
Rochester, 

“  God,  my  supporter  and  my  hope, 

My  help  for  ever  near ; 

Thine  arm  of  mercy  held  me  up, 

When  sinking  in  despair.” 

And  there,  too,  our  mother,  of  precious  memory,  though,  as 
she  died  when  you  were  but  six  months  old,  you  remember 
her  not — there  she  lived  a  life  of  poverty,  patience,  meek¬ 
ness,  and  faith.  There  she  used  to  sit  and  card  her  wool 
by  the  light  of  the  pine  knot,  and  sing  to  us  those  sweet 
words, 

“  Hov’ring  among  the  leaves,  there  stands 
The  sweet  celestial  Dove ; 

And  Jesus  on  the  branches  hangs 
The  banner  of  his  love.” 

And  there,  too,  almost  thirty-four  years  ago,  we  assembled 
early  one  morning  in  her  little  bed-room  to  see  her  die.  Her 
peace  was  like  a  river  ;  she  was  full  of  triumph ;  and  she 
was  able  to  address  to  us  words  of  heavenly  consolation  till 


THE  MISSIONARY’S  FATHER. 


3 


she  had  actually  crossed  over  into  shallow  water  within  one 
minute  of  the  opposite  hanks  of  the  Jordan — heaven  and  all 
its  glories  full  in  vieiv.  Precious  woman,  “  Were  my  chil¬ 
dren  but  'pious ,”  thou  didst  often  say  in  thy  last  long  sick¬ 
ness,  “  how  cheerfully  coidd  I  leave  them ,  and  go  away  .” 
But  what  thine  eyes  were  not  permitted  to  behold,  have  not 
the  angels  long  since  told  thee — that  the  eight  children  thou 
didst  leave  behind,  with  all,  or  all  hut  one  of  their  partners, 
were  partakers  of  that  blessed  Gospel  “which  was  all  thy 
salvation,  and  all  thy  desire and  that  three  of  thy  sons 
were  engaged  in  proclaiming  it  to  others  ?  Yes,  God  hath 
heard  thy  prayers,  and  “  hath  remembered  his  holy  cove¬ 
nant,”  as  we  are  all  witnesses  this  day. 

But  before  I  close,  I  must  say  something  more  of  the 
early  habits  and  character  of  our  venerable  father.  The 
little  farm  he  once  possessed,  if  it  were  not  all  ploughed 
over,  was,  I  am  confident,  almost  every  foot  of  it  prayed 
over.  And  'some  dried  apples  from  it,  which  a  subsequent 
owner  sent  me  a  few  years  since,  were  to  me  “  as  the  smell 
of  a  field  which  the  Lord  hath  blessed.”  He  was  full  of  the 
millennium  and  of  the  missionary  spirit,  long  before  the  ex¬ 
istence  of  the  present  missionary  societies  ;  praying  daily  for 
both  Jews  and  Gentiles — saying  with  the  Psalmist,  “Let 
the  people  praise  thee,  0  God  ;  let  the  people  praise  thee, 
all  of  them” — and  like  his  uncle  Solomon  Goodell,  was 
ready  and  desirous  to  contribute  something  for  the  spread 
of  the  glorious  Gospel  long  before  he  had  an  opportunity 
for  so  doing. 

He  served  three  years  in  the  revolutionary  war  ;  and  I 
was  struck  with  the  fact  you  communicated  of  its  being 
early  on  the  morning  of  the  memorable  4th  of  July,  amidst 
the  roaring  of  cannon,  that  he  slept  in  peace.  And  though 
to  his  children  he  left  no  inheritance,  no,  not  so  much  as 
one  cent,  yet,  in  his  godly  example  and  prayers,  he  has  left 
them  the  very  richest  legacy  which  any  father  ever  be¬ 
queathed  his  children. 

It  is  a  rare  privilege  we  have  all  enjoyed  in  being  de¬ 
scended  from  such  parents.  They  were  the  children  of  the 
great  King.  They  belonged  to  the  royal  family.  Their 
names  were  on  the  catalogue  of  princes,  and  of  those  that 
live  for  ever.  They  daily  walked  abroad  with  the  conscious 
dignity  of  heirs  to  a  great  estate,  even  an  incorruptible  in- 


4 


THE  MISSIONARY’S  FATHER. 


heritance.  And  they  have  now  gone  to  sit  down  with 
Christ  on  his  throne.  “  And  they  shall  hunger  no  more, 
neither  shall  they  thirst  any  more.”  I  love  to  look  back 
and  see  how,  with  no  ambitious  aspirings  after  worldly  gain, 
or  pleasure,  or  honor,  they  humbly  walked  with  God  ;  how 
from  day  to  day  they  deliberately  sought,  both  for  them¬ 
selves  and  for  their  children,  first  of  all,  “  the  kingdom  of 
God  and  his  righteousness  and  how  in  this  scoffing  world 
they  were  so  united  to  Christ  as  apparently  to  have  no  sep¬ 
arate  interest  or  existence — it  not  being  so  much  “  they  that 
lived,  as  Christ  living  in  them.” 

It  was  doubtless  a  mercy  to  them,  that  they  never  at 
any  time  possessed  much  of  this  world’s  goods,  and  were  at 
times  reduced  to  great  straits ;  and  a  mercy  to  us,  that  we 
had  to  bear  the  yoke  in  our  youth,  and  often  to  make  our 
meal  of  salt  and  potatoes ;  and  I  have  often  found  it  in  my 
heart  to  bless  God  for  all  his  dealings  with  them  and  with 
us.  And  why  should  we  be  anxious  to  leave  our  children 
any  other  inheritance  than  was  left  to  us  ?  If  we  leave 
them  this,  and  they  avail  themselves  of  it,  then,  though  we 
be  dead,  they  shall  still  have  a  Father  who  will  provide  for 
them,  and  take  care  of  them,  and  bless  them,  and  make 
them  happy  for  ever. 

And  is  our  father  gone,  who  prayed  for  us  so  much  ? 
Let  us  be  thankful  that  the  great  Intercessor  “  ever  liveth  to 
make  intercession  for  us  ;”  and  more  than  ever,  let  us  avail 
ourselves  of  his  mediation  and  atonement,  of  his  grace  and 
strength,  and  of  his  righteousness  and  Spirit  ;  and  more  than 
ever,  let  us  now  pray  for  ourselves  and  for  all  our  brothers 
and  sisters.  And  is  our  father  dead  ?  Let  us  arise  and 
give  thanks  to  God,  that  good  men  may  die.  Let  us  give 
special  thanks  that  our  father  and  mother  are  no  longer  in 
this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow.  And  let  us  be  more  careful 
than  ever  to  “be  followers  of  those  who,  through  faith  and 
patience,  are  now  inheriting  the  promises,”  being  sinners 
saved  by  grace  alone. 


T  rts.  ,&4  ,s _ _ 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE  AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY. 


Y*0  *wt 


